


The Awakening Social Conscience

by vintage1983



Category: Victoria (TV)
Genre: Allegory, BDSM, Dark, Established Relationship, F/M, Historical Inaccuracy, Older Man/Younger Woman, Sex, Spanking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-30
Updated: 2019-10-30
Packaged: 2021-01-13 07:15:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21240257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vintage1983/pseuds/vintage1983
Summary: Written for the Dark Vicbourne Fest 2019 this is a very different take on the idea of dark.Victoria questions what it is to be poor and Lord M sets about demonstrating in an unconventional manner.Please be warned- contains very adult themes and BDSM.





	The Awakening Social Conscience

**Author's Note:**

> In a very different take on the idea of Dark Vicbourne, I have written this. I appreciate it may not be everyone's cup of tea, and it is very different to the gothic romance of The Rook.  
To me there is no greater darkness than the absolute poverty and inequality of the era. Read casually as smut or as an allegory for the plight of the masses. I'm cool with either. Historically inaccurate on every conceivable level. 
> 
> There is a second chapter if people are interested in reading more. 
> 
> The title comes from a Holman Hunt painting- The Awakening of Conscience.

Victoria sat upright and formally at the desk working through the dispatches. She was distracted, not an uncommon occurrence of late. Fingertips brushed longingly over her Prime Minister’s. She observed him, his response contained, but undoubtedly present. He inhaled sharply through his nostrils, his eyes flickering closed for no more than a second. It made her smirk triumphantly. She revelled in her ability to move him and took pleasure in the reminder that want was still within him, burning and bubbling beneath his cool and collected exterior. Bored and preoccupied with other thoughts, she was rapidly losing her commitment to the task. She studied him intently, as he forced himself back into deep concentration, clearly fighting the same distractions.

Though she had stopped taking in what he was saying, she watched his mouth move, stirred by glimpses of his tongue. She revelled in the wicked excitement of their secret trysts, she yearned and longed for more, wanted to run to him and feel his body moulded against hers and his lips upon hers the second the door closed behind them and they could exist in the sanctuary of a private space. Sometimes he indulged her and made their work wait. Today he was serious and restrained, insisting the contents of the box were addressed first. Denial held its own allure. Though she never confessed it, the slow torture of her impatient wait gave the morning an additional thrill. She adored the way need burrowed and formed within the pit of her stomach, how it grew and bloomed until she felt fit to burst. Victoria sometimes secretly longed for the days when her desires must be contained for as long as possible. It was unspoken, but she had strong suspicions that Melbourne recognised and exploited it, knowingly exercising self-control and by default exerting a control over her. Today her patience was tested. She sighed dreamily.

“Is there very much more to be done today? I wish to enjoy a more pleasant occupation,” she glanced up at him, head still bowed, but gazing upwards, her eyes twinkling with delicious intent and mischief. “It seems such a terrible waste, while I have you here at my disposal.”

He raised an eyebrow. There was a teasing wickedness in her voice. It tempted him and drew out a stirring in his loins. She never failed to tempt him. He should have refused her, never given in to her flirtatious gestures and the longing in her eyes. Lord Melbourne could not resist. The strength to decline her plump lips and the butter-soft pale flesh at the swell of her breasts was far more than he possessed. 

“At your disposal, Ma’am?”

“Yes, Lord M. At my disposal. I am your Queen, am I not?”

“You are indeed my Queen.”

“And you are my Prime Minister?”

“Correct again, Ma’am.”

“Then surely you are at my disposal?”

Victoria chewed at her lip; her eyes alight.

“I am your humble servant, but I must remind you that our first obligation is to the running of the country and any other _dispositions_ will have to wait until the dispatch box has been dealt with.”

She pouted back at him. He weakened a little but pointed back to the box. He could maintain his resolve in the short-term. 

“Matters of state first,” he insisted; his expression informed her the situation was non-negotiable. She huffed and examined the next document with a sigh.

“The Poor Law. Again. Must it come up so often.”

“It does and it must.”

“How can I, or you for that matter, say what is to be done?”

“Ma’am?”

“I have no conception of what it is to be poor. Who are we to say what should be done, or to interfere with the live we have not and never will have to live? I should very much despise someone telling me how to conduct myself as Queen.”

“An advocate of laissez-faire then? Yet you allow me to guide you.”

“I do, because you are wise and can properly advise me in these matters.”

“So, you are shepherded by someone whom you trust and is in a position to steer you to the right decision?”

“I suppose I am. If it’s you. Of course, I trust you to lead me the right way, Lord M. I may not trust anyone else to do the same. In fact, I most certainly would not.”

“Then it is no different to your government, or your Prime Minister applying their wisdom to what is to be done for the poor.”

“Perhaps. Perhaps if I understood the plight of the common man better, I might have an informed opinion of how the matter should be dealt with it. Perhaps I should disguise myself and enter the workhouse to live as they do.”

“I think not.”

“Why not? If it good enough for them, why should I not experience it first-hand? I may gain insight and understanding. I may solve the problem of the lower classes once and for all.”

“Impossible, Ma’am, though I admire your optimism and perhaps should berate you for your arrogance and presumption that in a day or two you might conceive a solution for a dilemma which has existed throughout human history.”

“I am not arrogant, but I mean it completely and sincerely. How are we to know? We do not ask the poor, do we?”

“We do not, but it is the place of the better classes to decide what is for the best, it is for the more fortunate to apply sense and reason to the situation and be guided by what is right.”

Victoria huffed petulantly.

“But how am I to know what that is? It is one thing to read or hear of it, but without experiencing something, how am I to _know?_”

“Ma’am you cannot know. You must trust proper values and considered thought.”

“But I demand to know for myself. I am their Queen, as much as I am yours and I wish to know.”

Melbourne grew impatient with her brattish insistence. He considered how best to tackle her petitions to live amongst London’s paupers, or her belief that she could bring about sweeping reforms to simply make the issue disappear. His decision was made. Victoria had no concept of life beyond palace walls. He could teach her without leaving the room.

“Very well,” he said, his tone shifting to his sternest and most sombre.

“Very well?”

“You will endure whatever I see fit to give you the clarity you seek?”

She was uncertain, nervous even. She had never seen him look some intense, almost fearsome. There was a flash of anger in his eyes and not a hint of good humour in his voice.

“Yes, but how, how will you do that?”

“You will question me no further, but submit to whatever I ask of you?”

She looked at him lost in confusion, yet curiosity drove her to agree. His tone had suddenly shifted. He remained cold towards her, detached and authoritative. Though she could not say why, it made her pulse quicken and her breath catch a little.

“I will, whatever you ask of me, William.”

He caught her wrist. His fingers dug painfully into her flesh.

“Say it.”

She looked at him unsure what he required of her, shocked at his rough handling of her.

“Say that you submit.”

“I am the Queen; I submit to no-one. Why do I need to…?”

The steely glare in his eyes stole the words from her mouth. She studied his face, nervous but fascinated by this very different persona. Victoria questioned if she should end this now and her sweet and kind, loving and affectionate William would return to her in an instant. Despite her reservations, she found herself obediently chanting back the words he commanded.

“I submit.”

“If you truly wish to know what it is to be subservient, to endure, to suffer, then so be it. Lock the door.”

A wave of fear and excitement overtook her, as she hurried to the door and gently turned the key, so it clicked into the lock as quietly as possible. She had done it many times before, to ensure privacy and prevent anyone from disturbing them. If an unwanted interloper had arrived, it at the least it bought them precious time to fall from one another’s arms and back into their official roles. This time it felt different. His eyes remained dark, severe and unsympathetic.

“Strip,” he commanded.

She looked at him bemused but strangely aroused.

“Will you not kiss me, William?”

“Undress,” he barked again.

She stared back at him, open mouthed at his disrespectful and emotionless order. He had never spoken to her so brutally before. Nobody had.

“What do you…”

“I said, undress. First you must shed the trappings of wealth. Without your jewellery and your dresses, naked you are no different to any other woman, to a commoner, or a prisoner or an inmate at the poorhouse. Stripped bare a man might not know the difference between royalty and a pauper.”

“You would know, of course you would. How can I be no different to a, to a…pauper?”

“Silence. I do not require you to speak. You will not question me again, or you will be punished. Strip, take off every scrap of fabric, every jewel, until you are as naked as when you came into this world.”

“William…I…I…”

“Don’t have a choice. The poor do not have the luxury of choices. Neither do you. They are subjects. Subjects are ruled. You will be ruled. Undress. Now.”

She swallowed hard, her mouth drying and her throat rasping. Victoria found herself doing exactly as he wished. Disgust and fear mingled with the early twinges of desire. Unable to comprehend the incongruous sensations within her, she carried on, compelled as though lulled into a trance. Slowly, her fingers shaking, afraid but unable to prevent herself from continuing, she loosened her dress enough to push it from her shoulders. The sharp brutality in his voice stung and wounded her, yet she felt the knot coiling in her stomach, tightening with want as she removed her necklace and set it down on the desk. Her ache deepened as she fumbled her way further out of the of the dress, she undid the tiny hooks and slid it down until it hit the floor with a swoosh, and it curled around her ankles in a huge silky puddle. She looked at him, searching for something, recognition, affirmation, a glimmer of affection. Her pleading eyes were met with stony indifference, the subtle tightening of his jaw the only sign of reaction. Victoria stood adrift in the centre of the room.

“Continue, I did not grant you permission to stop.”

She shuffled uncomfortably, her brow furrowed, tears already pricking at her eyes at his cruelty.

“Do not cry. You must not cry. You cannot be ready to wallow in self-pity already. Are you already defeated, feeble, capable of tolerating so very little? Those you wish to understand demonstrate far more resolve. Are you weak, Victoria?

“I am not weak, nor feeble. I am not.”

His taunts had stoked the fire within her. Instantly she began to struggle to loosen her corset that pinched and constricted her, tugged and dragging at it with a renewed sense of urgency, as if she would prove him to be wrong. The tears subsided.

Despite her determination, it was no simple task to remove such a garment unaided. She had never had an occasion to even attempt it. At the end of the day, Skerritt had always assisted her. Her arms twisted, her body contorting as she reached awkwardly behind her back.

“Will you help me with this?”

“No. I will not. You would have no servants to pander to your every need in the poor house. You are quite alone in the world. Do it yourself.”

“William, please,” she whined, but he paced slowly around the room, examining a vase, gently returning papers to the dispatch box and treating her with disinterest. “I cannot. I have tried.”

“Do. It. Yourself.”

He did not so much as glance at her. Wriggling and straining, exhausted from the effort, she finally she undid the tight knot and managed to release its grip, uncomfortably dragging the criss-crossed laces lose and tugging it over her head. She puffed out a breath in relief and triumph and flung the cursed thing to the floor. A smirk fought at her lips. Melbourne did not flinch. 

“Better, though common match girls and mill workers do not address their betters by their Christian name.”

“Lord M then?”

He shook his head.

“Too familiar. You are beneath me. Try again.”

“My Lord.”

“Better, not quite.”

“Sir?”

“Hmm, getting warmer.”

“I don’t know what you want.” Frustration made her pitch spike.

“Petulant girl. I am your better. I am your Master.”

Victoria gasped audibly. It felt wrong, yet right. She despised and revelled in his dominance of her. The knot within her curled and tightened, the first hints of moisture pooling in her underwear.

“Remove the rest.”

This time she did as she was told without hesitation, now eager to please him. His Queen stood naked before him. Her state of undress made her squirm uncomfortably. Lord Melbourne had looked upon her almost bare before, this felt so very different, she was exposed, set apart from him, simply observed. His gaze skimmed over her coldly, revealing nothing. Her body, the sight of it revealed to him had always incited him and drew out a passionate and lustful response. Now he looked at her only with disdain. The urge to cover herself was strong. Crossing her arms over her chest, her legs instinctively squeezing together. Shame flushed on her cheeks.

“Arms by your sides. Legs apart” He snapped at her, and she timidly complied.

He tapped impatiently at her thigh, though it was not a gentle touch, it was not firm enough to cause her any pain. “A little wider,” he instructed. Victoria inhaled deeply, closing her eyes tightly as if she would become invisible and disappear, and spare her embarrassment, if she could no longer see him.

This time he slapped at the same spot. The sting shot through her body, heat radiating immediately from the place he had struck. It ran through her and worked its way to the aching heat of her sex with a sharp twitching pulse. It shocked and surprised her, both that it had made her feel that way, that it made her throb there, in that special place she had allowed him and only him to touch and she discovered it was not wholly unpleasant. Part of her wanted to protest; another felt she should. She did not.

“Eyes open. Look at me. You will look at me at all times.”

Victoria nodded meekly.

“First you will learn what it is to work, you must know the pain of hard physical labour in the service of your Master. Raise your arms slowly, to shoulder height, palms facing the ceiling. Remain still.”

He went to the shelf and leisurely ran a finger over the spines of the books, before pausing and selecting several in varying sizes. She remembered his instruction and twisted her head to ensure he never left her line of sight. Victoria’s neck ached, but she did not dare defy him. 

“You will come to know what it is to be a beast of burden, for your back to ache from your efforts. Do you understand, Victoria?”

She nodded again, as words still escaped her.

“Are you certain? I cannot hear you.”

“Yes,” she rasped.

He yanked roughly and violently at her hair.

“Yes…”

She knew her failing and corrected it instantly.

“Yes, Master.”

He laid a book flat on each of her hands and took a step back to observe her, drinking in the view of her. The ache in her arms already began to grow. Each was a heavy, leather bound volume.

“There, hold them.”

He added another to each side, both as thick and weighty as the last. She gritted her teeth, determined not to break. She shook and quivered with the effort, as her arms and shoulders began to ache, each muscle tightening and burning. He circled her with purpose and menace, forcing her to continually turn her head to try and keep him in view. She ultimately failed as he intentionally stopped directly behind her.

Slap! He struck her, his hand striking her bottom with a loud cracking sound. She whimpered but held it within. The same warmth she had felt when he smacked her thigh spread, sending another sharp, tugging needy ache between her legs.

“Curtsey.”

“I do not bow to anyone; you cannot expect me to… besides how am I to…”

“A queen does not, But the lowest rung, the lowliest of subjects bow to all above them. You will show respect to your Master, Victoria. It is not a request.”

She pursed her lips, frowning, torn between the protocols that applied to her as a monarch before her Prime Minister and the wants of a woman standing naked before a man. Melbourne studied her face, smiling darkly as her read and took gratification from the conflict within her.

“Now, show deference to your Master and your better. Curtsey.”

The effort and the pain were taking their toll. The burning sensation had spread into her shoulders and back. She had said she would endure it and she was adamant that she would keep her vow. Her arms were beginning to sag and buckle. Aware he had noticed, she dug deep within herself, finding the strength to force them back up and straighten them. Her legs shook as she slowly inched her feet into position and delicately lowered herself into an unsteady bow. The books teetered precariously.

Without warning, he added another book to one hand, but not the other. Though it was smaller and lighter than the others, the imbalance in the weight made her sway.

“Not all burdens are neatly and evenly distributed. You are unable to dictate the nature of your work. You will do as your Master sees fit, when he sees fit.”

Tears formed. The muscles in her arms and shoulders tightened.

“You will thank me.”

“Thank you?”

“Yes. You should show gratitude to your generous and benevolent master for providing you with work. You must work in order to live. You must suffer for your comfort and pleasures.”

“Thank you.”

A single tear fell.

“Thank you, Master.”

There was another hard, slapping sound as, without warning he struck her behind again viciously. The books tumbled with a loud clatter.

He sighed in irritation. “Useless, feckless. Your work is unsatisfactory. You will be punished, and you will learn not to displease me.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she pleaded. “It was unfair.”

“Life is unfair. It is not excuse for the dereliction of your duty.”

Angrily, he dragged out the chair from the desk and sat down, scowling and dissatisfied. Unable to explain her feelings, even to herself, it pained her to see she had failed him.

“I am sorry. I will try harder. Allow me to try again. I will do better.”

“It is too late. Come here,” he commanded.

Victoria moved cautiously towards him; her reddened eyes still fixed on his until she stood in front of him, so immersed in the moment, she had forgotten she was naked, or had at least ceased to care.

“I find you guilty.”

From nowhere defiance and spirit swelled.

“I have had no fair trial, every man and woman in the country has the right to a trial.”

“The law is not your concern. The poor neither read nor write. I am your Master; my word is your law; you know nothing else. You question my authority? I will punish you doubly for your dissent. A Master is free to beat his apprentice as required. There is no debate or means of recourse.”

Victoria did not protest, as he dragged her down unceremoniously and hauled her over his knee. Melbourne lifted his hand, pausing for a minute to listen to the harsh and rasping sound of Victoria’s breath. Need had risen, she no longer tolerated her ordeal but embraced it. He sensed it, felt it and knew it absolutely.

“Do you deserve to be reprimanded? Does your inadequacy warrant it?

“I…I don’t know. I tried. I did. I did not intend to…”

“Answer me.”

“Yes.”

It was a wretched wail. She no longer simply wanted it but felt certain she would wither and die without it. Still nothing came. He wrung out every delicious second. Her heart thumped and she thought she would sob and burst for it.

Finally, his hand came down on the soft, pale flesh of her cheeks. He spanked her raised bottom, hard and relentlessly, one stroke rapidly following another, her tender skin reddening and flushing as he left behind the raw imprint of his hand. The dam burst and now sobbed and wept, tears pouring down her face and wetness gathering below, her thighs growing damp and sticky with each stroke. A throaty cry escaped her lips.

“Silence yourself.”

Victoria put her hand over her mouth, just in time to stifle another pitiful sound as he struck her hard again. Without pause, over and over, he lost count, she lost herself as pain and lust blurred her thoughts and her vision. The image and idea would have horrified her, a queen, chastised like an unruly child, the reality thrilled and excited her. It was there, the now omnipresent, throbbing agony of desire. Each blow connecting so perfectly within her, she found herself writhing and trying to find release and pleasure against his knee. He paused suddenly.

“No. You do not deserve that. You are utterly unworthy of it.”

He raked her back and she could have wept for the loss of the burning sensation from the blows as much as the denial of the delicious friction against the tender bud of nerves that had grown plump and agonisingly sensitive. She battled to still herself but knew she must if her craving for more was to be satisfied. He took his time, her ragged breath punctuating the silent delay. His hand hovered, threatening, promising, tormenting. She barely repressed a moan of desperation and frustration.

Melbourne’s hand came down again. She drew air in through her teeth, her eyes watering but her body embracing the sweet, delicious pain. It burned, how it burned but she adored it and couldn’t stand to be without it. Over and over, left and right, no pattern to it to allow her to prepare or brace herself in readiness, no regular rhythm. She wanted to live there in that moment forever and for it never to end.

He was out of breath when he ceased, his heart pounding in his chest. They remained still for a moment. He softly stroked her hair, taking her hand and guiding her to her feet. Gently, he brushed wet, gloopy tears away from her face with the pad of his thumb.

“Victoria, are you alright?”

She nodded back slowly, still stunned and incoherent. 

“What is it that you desire?”

“I…I want to be touched. I need…I need it, your touch. There.” Her hand fell to her sex.

Though his eyes burned with lust, she had felt him, hard pressing into her body and she had lain over his lap, he gave a satisfied smirk and shook his head.

“No, Victoria. There is no comfort or respite from it. There is no warmth or goodness at the end of a day’s labour or compensation for enduring punishment. That, my naive girl, is the true way of the world outside of your cossetted regal existence.”

“Please,” she wailed. “Please. I’m begging you; I will beg you. My need is that great. I must have it.”

“No Victoria.” He said again coldly. “There is no tolerance of beggars. Your needs will go unmet. Rewards are hard earned. There will be no soothing either. You must withstand your pain, as others do.”

She thought she would disintegrate at the denial; she opened her mouth to speak and plead again. He turned his back to her, implying disinterest in her petitions to be sated.

Though he carried it out with utter conviction, it could not have been further from the truth. His hand still tingled and stung from the spanking he had administered. He could smell her ripe sex, tempting him and fuelling his own urges. His own need, though concealed was still hard and demanding attention. William would deny himself today. 

“Dress yourself. Hurry. My patience with you wears thin.”

Sobbing, Victoria dressed herself as best she could and stood patiently waiting.

“Are you decent?”

“Yes,” it was barely a whisper.

He turned and rushed to her, holding her, kissing her. His mouth was greedy on hers, her lips parting to invite his tongue to stroke and caress hers and offer her comfort and reassurance. The first moments of hunger relaxed into deep, languid kisses. Lightheaded and dizzy, she clung to him tightly, both reluctant to break.

When at last they did she looked up at him through her large, glossy eyes.

“I…” she could not find words.

“Do you understand? Do you see now?”

“A little.” Hesitantly and nervously, she raised herself onto her tiptoes. “Will you teach me more? Tomorrow? I wish to know it and understand it completely.”

“We shall see. Sleep on it. You are still wild eyed and in an emotional state. Consider it and we shall speak about it tomorrow.”

“I will want it. I will. I must know.” Giddy eagerness had returned to her, unsated lust still drove her.

“We will discuss it tomorrow.”

“I can barely wait. I shall not sleep. What time will you come?”

“Tomorrow as your Prime Minister always attends you, Ma’am.”

She smiled softly, as if relieved that whatever had transpired in that room that day had not changed them, that he was still her William and had not forsaken her or ceased to be able to show her affection.

“Immediately, come early. The second you get here, lock the door and teach me more.”

He planted a soft kiss on her forehead, his hand slid down her back and patted at her bottom. Victoria winced. Desire instantly swelled again, and she embraced the revival of the sharp, stinging sensation.

“After dispatches are done,” he said sternly.

She pouted again, but quietly conceded she would do as he wished.


End file.
